Summers were meant for catching fireflies in Mason jars. And the fact that every time I watch a firefly flutter past me, I’m reminded of you and all the childhood that you signify. You are the cherry to my pie. And you’re the only best friend that I might have ever made. You are the one I’d love to chase those fireflies with tonight because later when the light would shine across your face, I would realize how familiar those contours around your eyes are, how deeply etched your face is in my memories.

And as I place the empty jar on your grave tonight, old friend, the emptiness inside me wells up with a million memories of those contours, of that face.

And in that empty Mason jar, I’ve packed all my memories of you. Keep them safe, old friend. Keep them close. As I shall keep you.